These History Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about History. These are the best examples of History Sonnet poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Inside a Sears store, at age 14,
I stopped to stare, with others there, in awe. . .
A dream achieved was on a TV screen:
Man’s first walk on the moon is what we saw.
Two decades passed, and I, then 35,
had lived thus far to see a mighty fall -
A celebration broadcast world-wide live:
The Cold War’s end; down came the Berlin Wall.
Born when the fight for Civil Rights began,
I’ve seen folks hated for their darker skin.
When I was 53, a black man ran
for president; the whole world saw him win!
Three things incredible in history
I’ve seen, which fan the flame of hope in me!
For Brian Strand's
A JEWEL IN YOUR CROWN any theme/form max 14 lines Poetry Contest
"Talking Leaves" fasinated Sequoyah
A Cherokee who accomplished great feats
In noble deed stands tall like a sequoia
Though lame fought beside Jackson no defeat
Success in battle 'pon warrior's horse
Winner in defeating illiteracy
He had an alphabet to endorse
After ten years effort deliberate
When his enlightment brought light, joy flowed
Then the Cherokee printing press spread news
Knowledge spread and troubled brewed discord sowed
The beginning of the "Trail Of Tears" diffuse
Sequoyah intelligent lone warrior
Battled to make his tribe superior
Sponsor: Shanity Rain
Contest: Native American People
Written: November 12, 2013
Throughout the days that followed, panic and carnage spread
The TV stations did their best to calm this human dread
All the hovering ships returned to whence they came
But thousands still appear above, New York now not the same
Communication now wanes, no power or mobile phones
You get a sense of feeling of being in a world that feels alone
Continual drones hum whilst the yellowed skies remain
Our planet we know as it was, will never be the same
Then came the day of reckoning as we all looked to the sky
A shuttle from the biggest ship lowered in hover fly
Suddenly the screens returned as we heard the visitors speak
We are ancestors of the Mayans, we treat as they were wreaked
From our original pasts demise, to earth we gave so long
To be part of here now gone, from an earth you once belonged
“…when power narrows the areas of man’s
concern, poetry reminds him of the richness
and diversity of his existence…”
—John F. Kennedy
Medieval misery crushing citizens;
Shackled: grueling, clanging, negativity
Middle Passage past, plaguing, yet frightens;
Intense insanity—gangs captivity!
Draining dreams and desires from hearts—slashed:
Ancestral destruction, devastating;
Bones protruding from ribs, weakening—lashed;
Sight yet sickening, distraught, disgusting!
Will God speak in molding humanity?
Will His divine grace cleanse such evil souls?
Self posed dictators, fool’s insanity
Greed in governing—crushing others’ souls!
Where art thou, Master of the Universe?
Hold not thy hands while the poor suffer worst!
© Joseph, 10/1/08
© All Rights Reserved
Semi finalist contestant
292 out of 887 submissions
June 1, 2009 International Contest
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
In the near future, I am going to add it all up into one big sum.
In the meantime, I am going to gather and collect my own space.
I will sift through seeds or weeds and present an enormous case.
But for sure I will hold onto every single yellow chrysanthemum.
In the near future, I am going to roll it all up sealing it by my thumb.
In the meantime, I am going to sit here with every turned about face.
I will drift through time rewinding the hands back to a God of Grace.
But for sure I will give the world a place my heart is triumphing from.
Quickly, I will come to you,
And instantly I will be gone.
But injustice shall never do.
Nor shall a lie be my spawn.
Or at the least not on my expedient silver polished dime,
And certainly not while sitting on destiny’s perch in time!
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
has a two story part,
a one story part,
a new part,
an old part
and an antique part.
Gables and pediments facing all directions of the compass
Tie all the parts together.
There are some concave outside walls;
There are some convex Inside walls.
The house breathes.
It sees with its many large window lights;
Knowing where the kids are,
Watching the horses kick up their heels,
Catching glimpses of new spring kittens
scurrying out from under the porch,
Seeing with watchful eyes
as the kids ski behind flying horses,
Keeping an eye on the dog
herding the grand-baby away from the corrals.
Seeing the skunks, racoons, foxes and coyotes
slip by as we sleep,
They brace against the winds
as they turn from south to north.
The glass in the antique part ripples
keeping the view in constant motion –
The grand antique porch has hosted birthdays; graduations; weddings;
rendezvous and funerals.
Giving sanctuary to many a friend
needing a place to come and sit in quiet for a while
The house takes comfort from the music of a whistle
coming from the workshop.
Then watching the kids go, one at a time.
Then the whistler was gone –
Yet it still holds out its arms and wings and peaks
securely protecting its remaining occupant.
The house suits me,
it is my eye candy,
it holds my heart.
I will live my last in this house
surrounded by my life.
Many and many years ago back when
Many were poor and poverty was real
Lay offs happened_momma got fired then
We lived rural with pork, dry peas for a meal
Daddy worked, my brother worked a job too
So there was some money to pay those bills
Extras were not thought of_real needs accrue
Then my aunt came with clothes_now not dullsville
They pulled out this purple skirt with those buttons
Purple buttons how I loved those jewels
Quickly at once they said too mature, hon
Snip went those buttons_no bombshell
Pressed the skirt_wrinkles gone poverty stayed
Today those purple buttons mood arrayed
Sponsor: Blacked Eyed Susan
THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;
and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.
They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!
And when the fire consumed all that it could
the winter of their lives was understood.
Each and every heart has lost its way
Xanadu is just fictitious, this you know.
Pain flows with love, as the wind doe s blow.
Love can be pretty or just as ugly any day.
One heart beats so different, in every way.
Dear lonely heart, listen to your spirit glow.
Each passing moment will tell the way to row.
Dream your desires, but live in reality today.
Revelations shall take your heart for a little ride.
Explosions build and fall, love has crescendos.
Veer carefully in passions lost, before you decide.
Eventual truth will guide you; out of these woes.
Respect your soul, don’t let your heart be the only guide
Every love shows, grows, though not without repose.
The voice, angelic, sings beyond the sealed door
Draws its tune from Prescences profound,
From Beings not in this world found;
A gift conferred to none before,
As treasures from the Deeps to shore.
Her notes align to build the sound
That enfolds the mystic all around,
That skywards lifts her eyes once more.
Given to God while yet a child,
Hildegard's world was made of faith;
He life a-crowd with visions.
She endured their incandescence wild
Within her head, and proved such wraiths
May make a Heaven of their prisons.